Undone II: Fallen Angels
by undergroundcheshirecat
Summary: Sequel to Undone. Jareth and Sarah are deeply in love and are preparing for her introduction to the Court. But a darkness is stirring witin the Labyrinth, one that will bring about the Prophecy of the Sun. Rated R for violence & some sexual content.
1. Introduction: Visions

I have just started writing this, so updates may be a little more spread out than the last ones. As always, same disclaimer applies.  
  
Introduction:  
  
From underneath a thick charcoal hood, Sieca stared out of the small opening to the cave on the cliffs. It felt as though it had taken her an eternity to find this place, but she had finally found the Ivory Temple, the prison and the shrine that encased the answers she needed. She looked on, a mixture of sorrow and comic irony filling her jaded eyes. How could this have happened? She shook her head, there was no sense in dwelling on the past. Not now – there was so much that needed to be done. So much with so little time, time she felt, that was quickly slipping through her fingers. Her lips curled in a humorless smile, the comedy never reaching her eyes. Sighing, she stepped back into the cavern, toward the fire to warm herself. A large black wolf gazed back up at her for a moment, then walked toward the entrance to the cave and sat staring out into the cold night, as if keeping watch for some unknown foe, lest it venture into their alcove.  
  
Sieca shivered, and whispered a word that would raise the fire a little higher, warm the cavern a little faster. She pulled her cloak a little tighter and settled down to warm herself. The visions she had lately disturbed her, but nothing would keep her from her goal, not even him, the Lord of Goblins. So long ago they had shared a friendship, but now, what was she to make of all that had transgressed? Her half-brother left for dead in some shrine to the Goddess, her once dear friend betrothed to a mortal woman some were saying was the reincarnation of Illianna herself, and now the prophecy of the sun had weaved itself into her visions, into her life. None of it made sense, and the more she thought on it, the more her head spun. Truly Stark had always dabbled in the darker side, with a father like theirs it was almost inevitable, thankfully she had been spared, by Stark's hand no less, but how could he have deserved the punishment rendered by the Goblin King – and over a mortal? She lay on her side and gazed into the depths of the fire. Who was she to judge after all? She was the bastard daughter of rapist Fae who had once brutally taken his pleasure from what mortals would have called an Angel, in appearances at least. The mere thought caused Sieca to shiver inside, she had thought Stark had taken a different path when he had saved her, but things were not always what they seemed in the Underground. She had not seen him in nearly twenty-five years, and before that, it was rare that she saw him at all after that single night she now tried so hard to forget.  
  
Sieca took one last look over her shoulder to the cave entrance where Rissick stood a solitary guard, staring into the falling snow. Winter had crept in early this year, and its bitter cold was sharper than any in the Underground had felt in a hundred years. Staring into the orange and red twisting fire, Sieca tranced, for her people did not sleep, and the nightmare visions once more overtook her mind.  
  
She ran blindly through the forest, trees ripped at her legs and arms, scratching her face. Rissick raced beside her growling and snapping at the trees, but even his thick wolfen fur could not stop the branches from tearing at his muzzle and one of his eyes oozed from a deep cut. The pair ran, following no path. Before she realized what had happened, Sieca was running alone, a deep howl rang through the fog and darkness, and she knew Rissick was gone. Salt stung her eyes, but there was no time for emotion as she raced on, pushing through the darkness. Without warning, the grasping trees stopped, and she ran full into a marshy clearing, falling to her knees, splashing fetid water onto her frail and bleeding form. The thick, foul sludge was enough to make her eyes water and nearly caused her to wretch. She pulled her head up and stared in disbelief at the scene before her eyes. Her dear friend, her once childhood love, held the bloodied body of a dark haired, inhumanly beautiful woman in his arms, a wicked smile curling about his lips. He dropped her form unceremoniously, and stalked toward Sieca. Defiantly she raised her chin, her deep green eyes meeting his cold orbs. Orbs that were both steel gray.  
  
Confusion pierced her mind, too many things did not make sense. Had this Jareth killed the mortal woman now at his feet? Why were his eyes both gray? What was he doing standing in the middle of a marsh in Goddess knows where? Her thoughts were cut short, he was upon her. "Tell me my sweet little Sieca, do you still cry for your mother? Do you still dream of your father? Do you honestly think of me, Jareth, Lord of the Labyrinth, as a kind and generous ruler? Sieca, Sieca, Sieca, what the Labyrinth wants, the Labyrinth gets." Her mind reeled. His voice wasn't right, it was harder, darker, more of a rasp than Jareth's elegant speech, though she had not heard his voice since she was so very young, she would never forget his elegant speech – no, something was amiss. He gripped her chin in his black gloved hands roughly, hands that were slick with the blood of the woman who now lay crumbled at the base of a tree. For the first time, she noticed the tree, a twisting malformed unnatural thing, blacker than the pitch of the night, it stood against the darkness as a shadow of midnight. "I will tell you a secret, pet. Staring into the heart of darkness is a sure way to be consumed by it. But if you're good, I won't let it hurt you too much." Kissing her forehead, the Jareth-like fae strode back to the tree, and placed his hands upon it. Whisping smoke trailed itself from the twisted branches of the deadened formation and wound thick tendrils around the man, finding their way into his mouth in a sickly ethereal kiss. All Sieca could do was take in the ghastly scene, shock and horror etched across her face, as the creature turned back to face her full.  
  
"Oh you are so naughty, sister, so naughty indeed. Why didn't you tell me? Tsk tsk tsk." As it walked towards her, Sieca's horror was complete. The veins running the length of the Jareth's neck and face were all ink black, creating the appearance of cracked flesh, and where once cold eyes has stared back at her, now only pools of darkness bored into her. The ground she knelt upon began to solidify under her, locking her in place. "The prophecy, you are weaved into it somehow. Now we cannot have that, can we? Pity." He reached her, staring down at her prone form, he smiled wickedly, lifeless orbs locked with hers. In his hand, a crystal appeared, the color of polished steel, he turned it once and in its place, a bone dagger appeared. He sank to her level, staring her in the eyes, brandishing the edge of the alabaster blade.  
  
In a flash, he was knocked back, Rissick tearing at his clothing, the giant wolf's fangs tearing into the shoulder of the Jareth. The friend she thought dead had bought her time. Struggling to free herself, Sieca wrenched her right arm free of the quagmire and prepared to call forth a spell that would aid her wounded friend who was losing the fight, growing weaker by the moment. As she prepared to cast the spell, the world darkened around her, the only thing left visible, was tree, blacker than darkness, the shadow of mindnight.  
  
Sieca awoke in a cold sweat, Rissick beside her, his icy eyes remaining fixed on the entrance to the cave. With a deep sigh, she sat up, pulling her cloak tighter. The dreams were becoming more frequent, more real. Somehow or another, she was tied to this, tied to Jareth, to the unearthly beautiful mortal woman, and to whatever that thing was. Now all she had to do was sort everything out. Things were never as they seemed in this place, and good and evil were simply a matter of perspective. She rose, keeping her cloak tight to fight off the chill, and walked to the entrance, Rissick beside her. She looked down upon the ivory temple, resolution transfixed in her gaze. One way or another, tomorrow she would get her answers.  
  



	2. Preparations & Delays

Preparations  
  
Sarah stood staring into the mirror in her chambers. The changes her body had undergone since becoming fully fae were subtle, but remarkable none the less. She practically glowed with an unearthly radiance, her features, while lovely before, now carried the unnatural and sharply beautiful details of the fae race. She smiled softly at her appearance and sighed, still not fully accustomed to the look about her or the feel of her own body. She had changed so much in the past few months, discovered more about herself than she had thought possible. And while her magic was still new to her, she was never without the reassuring presence of her chosen, King Jareth, or the comforting feeling that her mother had bestowed upon her the greatest gift she ever could have, her magic.  
  
Sarah turned from the mirror, her deep green dress trailing behind her. The thick fabrics of the skirts wrapped themselves around her and she marveled at how the velvet could feel so impossibly perfect. She tugged slightly at the low neckline, pulling the sheer mist fabric out just a little more, for modesty's sake. The dress was warm, but it was best as they would be traveling soon, and the Underground was unseasonably cold. But not even that cold could steal the smile from her lips, for the smile was borne of love, and nothing would ever taint something so pure. In only a few short days she would be introduced to the court, and the mere thought of it turned her stomach in knots. She may have been blessed with magic, but she was still only a young woman, who until recently, was a college student living in New York dealing with the grief of her "mother" passing away, a step-mother who hated her, a father who had practically forgotten her, and a sweet young brother, who had at one time, worshipped her.  
  
Thoughts of Toby always saddened Sarah a little. How she wished, no wished was the wrong word, wanted desperately to share this world with him. Someday, she promised herself, she would. Someday......  
  
But thoughts of a family in a faraway world would have to wait. Jareth would be coming to collect his Chosen at any moment so they could begin their journey to court. It was there she would be introduced as the future Queen of the Goblins, the Chosen of the King of the Fifth Kingdom, and the Daughter of Illianna, giving her a birthright to the Court and to the Underground. Together, they had decided it was best that the court not know too many details about her, until it was absolutely necessary, until she was announced. So to the outside world, she was simply Sarah of the Aboveworld who had once defeated the Labyrinth, who had returned to the Underground, and few knew more than that. There were so many rumors floating about, as rumors could never be stopped, but they were only that, rumors. Was she mortal? Half mortal? Was she truly Illianna's daughter? Had she murdered Stark? Was she to wed the King? All speculation on the part of the court, which made the upcoming presentation so awkward. They had not disclosed anything, and therefore, had nothing to defend, only to announce. Jareth had warned her there would be those who would seek to refute her claim, but the proof would be there for all to see. She was fae with a mortal soul, the daughter of Illianna, and his Chosen. He had also warned her that there would be so many vying for Jareth's attention, some men for politics, some women for different kinds of politics, and some friends, and so many more desperate to know how this young woman had captured the heart of the most elusive Lord in the Underground. Sarah smiled at that, how she loved him, truly and completely, and each day he returned that love with a mere look of his eyes, those perfectly mismatched intense eyes. She could not wait to join with his soul, fulfilling in ceremony, the words they had spoken time and again over the past three months.  
  
"Sarah, you look lovely." Came the soft voice of Areyne, knocking Sarah from her reverie, as she knocked while pushing open the doors. She walked in, her lithe form clothed in a thick black velvet gown with soft blue accents around the modest rounded neckline and full sleeves.  
  
Sarah smiled warmly at her petite friend. "Thank you. I am more nervous than I ever thought possible. And I thought stage fright was bad." Sarah shook her head and walked back to her dressing table and stared into the mirror, Areyne walked up behind her and began brushing her hair, fitting small jewels into it, as she had once done when a frightened young woman had found herself most unexpectedly back in the Underground. "You and Xaven are coming with us to Court, aren't you?" A suddenly worried Sarah asked. She had asked the question time and again since learning of her announcement, and always Areyne answered with the same stoic 'yes, of course'.  
  
With a glint in her eye, Areyne spoke to her friend in a very concerned voice "Sarah, Xaven and I are not going to be able to attend"  
  
"But we leave today! In a matter of moments!" Sarah exclaimed, suddenly very nervous. "I need you there! I've only begun to learn about etiquette and the politics, and and...." Sarah stopped short when she noticed her friend trying desperately to hide her laughter. In her best mock angry and indignant voice she giggled out "Really Sarah, maybe Xaven and I would like a bit of time to ourselves!" She could barely contain her laughter as she finished her sentence and Sarah whirled on her, a look of relief clouded by faux anger and laughter written across her face. Xaven and Areyne had returned to the castle a few weeks ago, after their joining in Xaven's home, a beautiful ceremony that Sarah and Jareth had witnessed as the couple's first guests, what Sarah thought of as being the best man and maid of honor. At the request of the Goblin King, Areyne was to tutor Sarah in the history and politics of the underground, as well as etiquette. The two lovers had taken two months together to reunite, at the insistence of Jareth, to perform their joining, and bask in the love that had been stolen from them for so long. In time perhaps, they would possibly return to the dark elf's forest home, where he and Areyne would be offered the title to govern as Lord and Lady, but Xaven's family was still in power, with a large family, and his mother the matriarch. Knowing of his Lady's deep love for Jareth and Sarah, they had returned to the Labyrinth, placed aside the position of rulership of his home for now, and were afforded places of near royalty within the Fifth Kingdom. They were to be the Lord and Lady attendants to the King and his future Queen, roles that afforded them a high place in Court. Xaven's official role was as Lord Protector of the Fifth Kingdom, and Areyne's as Lady Gaurdian of the Castle beyond the Goblin City. With a playful growl, Sarah tackled her friend, pinning her to the bed. "That's for scaring the crap outta me!" she yelled. The two dear friends laughed and tumbled, one pinning one down as the other rolled away, only to be taken down again, amidst laughter. As the two rolled off the bed, suddenly their attention was directed towards two very amused men, standing in the doorway.  
  
His heavily accented voice was laced with amusement and arousal at watching the two women rolling about the bed chambers of the woman he desperately loved. "Do you two do this sort of thing often when left to your own devices? Oh please do not stop for us, we were rather quite enjoying the show." A half smile twisted his lips.  
  
"Yes please, my love, do not stop on my account." Xaven chimed in.  
  
Nearly out of breath, Areyne stood and straightened her dress, a slight blush rising in her cheeks, as Sarah tried to hide her laughter from the floor "I think you have been spending a little to much time with the King my love besides," winking at the two men, Areyne smiled sweetly "We do far more with far less on when your politics take you from our sides" she remarked as she passed him on her way out the door. "Gentlemen, we really should be going" she called from down the hall. A grinning Xaven turned and left, following his love down the corridor.  
  
Sarah's mouth was agape at the brashness of her friend, she quickly closed her mouth when an intense pair of mismatched eyes gazed in to her own. Helping her up, he possessively pulled her towards his warm body, she could feel him aroused through her skirts, as his lips found hers, claiming her once more as his own. His kiss was primal, hungry, passionate, and hers responded in kind, tongue snaking out to find his, weaving within his mouth. Pulling up for air, Sarah breathily whispered "I thought we were to be going?" a moan escaped her lips as his teeth gently sank into her neck, biting gently downward, finally kissing the top of her shoulder. Huskily he replied, staring into her eyes "I think we can delay our leave for an hour." And with that, the two lovers fell onto the bed, clothing falling away, as they were lost in an embrace borne of the purest of love, and the deepest of passions. 


	3. The Battle for the Underground

Standard Disclaimer. The song "When the Angels Fall" by Sting belongs only to him and has been modified to fit this chapter.  
  
Chapter 3: The Battle for the Underground  
  
Dawn came early for Sieca and Rissick. They packed their simple belongings and began their trek down the steep sides of the cliff towards the Ivory Temple, shrine to Illianna, prison to her half-brother. Sieca's eyes were shadowed, rest had not come to her in many nights and the visions she had been experiencing were growing worse each night. And now the sense that she was somehow tied to the Sun Prophecy, the old wives tale told to frighten children and explain the world....she could only recall a small piece of it, the rest of the words hanging just outside of her memory....  
  
........When the angels fall  
Shadows on the wall  
In the thunder's call  
Something haunts us al  
When the angels falll....  
  
As they walked, she fell further into thought, the story reclaiming its place in her mind fully. Sieca remembered...  
.  
Thousands of years before the footsteps of humans or of Fae graced the  
worlds below or the worlds above, a race of pristinely beautiful,  
insanely vain creatures graced the world Underground. Said to have  
been birthed from the very heart of the sun itself, their wings had  
carried them here on the warmpth of the sunlingt and, they lived in  
peace in the Underground alone for uncounted years, led by the  
stongest and oldest of them all, Innix fel Sollustries Minum – Innix  
of the Sunlit Midnight. When a new race entered into the Underground,  
the Fells, possessive of what they had to themselves for thousands of  
years, and led by Innix, became insanely jealous, afraid to share, and  
they turned upon the new creatures, waging war upon what they deemed  
to be a foul infestation upon the graces of the magical realm  
slaughtering them by the scores, their white wings were said to have  
been forever stained red by the blood of the hapless. It seemed as  
though the merciless killing would never find its end, that the thirst  
for blood would forever remain unquenched – the once peaceful,  
beautiful Fells now thrived on the hunt, yearned for the kill, the  
most ruthless, their once serene leader, Innix fel Sollustries Minum.  
It was said that he murdered woman and child while the father watched.  
It was said that he cut the tongues out of babies and watch them  
drown upon their own blood. It was said, the in these creatures, he  
saw an unattainable perfection, and it had driven him mad. Many of  
the creatures fled above, where their children still dwell, the  
offspring of their ancestors, their only remembrances of their once  
home lies now on the edges of their dreams. But a few of those  
remained behind, stayed within the Underground, absorbing her magic,  
becoming stronger, and searching for the very center of the  
Underground, for their, they believed, they would find the source of  
power they would need to end the persecution of their kind, to end the  
war, and to find a way to live in peace with the Fells. They were led  
by one, known only in legend as The First, his name lost to the ages.  
They found the center, the very heart of the Underground, but not  
before Innix and his strongest followers had chased them down, intent  
upon slaughtering them, and thus ensuring the Underground would  
forever be theirs alone. It is said, that The First laid his hands  
within the life flow of the Underground, just as Innix drove his  
jagged midnight blade into his heart, and that because his lifeforce  
now drained onto the soil of the underground, that immortality and  
magic replaced his own blood, and he became the first Fae, who gifted  
all of his fellow-kind with his light, allowing the magic to radiate  
from his form, until he was no more, his sacrifice creating all Fae.  
With his sacrifice, a battle ensued, the Fae, blessed with magic from  
the Underground herself, drove down the Fells, the Fallen as they  
became known. Hundreds of Fells lost their lives that day, fewer were  
the casualties of the Fae, not one bore even a scar upon their now  
ethereal beautiful faces. One Fae in particular, rose to offer the  
few remaining Fells a choice, banishment or eternal disgrace. Innix,  
broken, his wings torn from his bloodied form, stood before that  
single Fae, and spit upon his face, remarking that the Fells were not  
through, that they would again rise to reclaim the Underground and all  
that was theirs, and that their leader's line would never know peace,  
that when the Fells again rose, the first sacrifice they would offer  
up to the Underground, would be the heir of his lineage. And with  
that, Innix plunged a crystal blade into his own heart, and fell to  
the ground, his form turning to mist, the Prophecy of the Sun filling  
the ears of those gathered with its eerie tune sending chills to very  
souls of the Fae gathered..  
  
Underneath a bridge of stars  
  
You dream in safety's keeping  
  
But perhaps the dream  
  
Is dreaming you  
  
When the angels fall  
  
Shadows on the wall  
  
In the thunder's call  
  
Something haunts us all  
  
When the angels fall  
  
A shadow still remaining  
  
We shall see you fall  
  
And all the rugged souls  
  
Looking for their lost homes  
  
Shuffle to the ruins  
  
From the leveled plains  
  
To search among the tombstones  
  
When the angels fall  
  
Shadows on the wall  
  
In the thunder's call  
  
Something haunts us all  
  
When the angels fall  
  
When the angels fall  
  
When the angels fall  
  
These are your feet  
  
These are your hands  
  
These are my children  
  
And this is my demand  
  
Bring them down, my angels  
  
Cast them from my sight  
  
I only want to see  
  
A million suns at midnight  
  
Your hands are empty  
  
The streets are empty  
  
You can't control us  
  
You can't control us anymore  
  
When the angels fall  
  
Then only silence remained. The prophecy floated away from the torn  
plains of the center of the Underground, and the leader of the Fae  
again offered up the same choice to the Fells, unwavered by the song  
that still hung in his ears. The other Fells, of which there were so  
few, less than two score, who could not face the Aboveworld, could not  
bear to leave the beauty of the Underground, agreed to remain, in  
disgrace, never to rise against another again.  
  
As the childhood story finished its recall in her memories, she looked up to find herself standing at the silver gates to the Temple. She was awestricken at the beauty and serenity of the building. With a deep breath, she pushed the gates open, and the two lonely companions strode forward towards answers. 


	4. A Clash of Cultures

A rather long chapter, kinda boring, but it is important to get the back story going here, to lay the foundation as it were. Don't worry, I promise it will pick up soon with some more lovin', some more fightin', and some kickin' plot twists. Enjoy.  
  
Standard Disclaimer  
  
Chapter 4: A Clash of Cultures  
  
Sarah sat in the carriage beside Jareth, nervously chewing at her bottom lip staring at the countryside out of the darkened window. The inside of the carriage was huge, being a separate magical chamber, one could stand and even walk around, if only a few feet. It was lushly decorated in rich deep blues and greens, adorned with simple, but comfortable couches facing one another, with a small table in the center and a small cabinet to one side, containing wine, liquors, parchment, and other luxuries. The two benches were wide enough that two people could sleep on one, should the need arise. Jareth sat beside her, reading some documents regarding the court proceedings that he would be asked to attend when they arrived, boundary disputes mainly, and a few new ordinances that would apply across the kingdoms regarding land ownership. Areyne and Xaven rode in a separate, slightly less elaborate carriage in front of theirs, and a royal guard brought up the rear. So deeply was the King of Goblins engrossed in the papers, that he didn't notice that Sarah's hand, which at one point had been resting gently upon his thigh, was now clenching and unclenching the fabric of his waistcoat in a nervous attempt to relax herself as she watched the countryside lazily roll by. The lands here were exquite, and though the early winter had set a frost to everything, the colors on the landscape still shone in the branches of the plants, reflected in the fallen ice.  
  
Sarah, sighed, a wrinkle of concern creasing her otherworldly brow. Her skin sparkled with the slightest tinge of nervous sweat. She had been through hell and back, risked life and soul to be here, so why was the prospect of being introduced at a court full of non-life threatening (or so she hoped) political maneuvering so unnerving to her? It wasn't as if her life was in danger, her mother would be so disappointed. No she thought, she was simply in danger of looking the total and complete fool, of embarrassing the Lord of the fifth kingdom, of falling flat on her face in front of the nobility exposing her knickers to the world or belching at dinner or calling an elf a nome! She sighed, not knowing how she was going to pull this off. This was a far cry from the stage – this, as impossible as it seemed, was real. She didn't know how this world of innately magical creatures was going to accept her. She was still the same Sarah she had always been, and in college there had not been a royal court to impress. Granted, she was the daughter of Illianna and rightful heir to royalty and all that went beside it, but it did not make the idea of being paraded in front of thousands of jealous women and ogling men, at least that was how Areyne had described it, any more comforting.  
  
Areyne had instructed Sarah in the proper conduct, the proper etiquette, the proper titles, the proper movements, the proper bullshit that went along with all of this pomp and circumstance and it was all so overwhelming that she just wanted to scream. She still had so much to learn if she was going to go before the royal courts and prove herself worthy of the ruler of the Fifth Kingdoms grace. It was time to face it, she was scared of not living up to his expectations....words that sounded so familiar. Another sigh escaped her lips, as she delved further into her thoughts. The only comfort to Sarah was that Jareth, Areyne, and Xaven would be there with her, and that Jareth disliked the formality of it all as well, but had explained to her the necessity. Areyne had remarked that he didn't like to be shown off to the royals as some kind of 'most eligible', and now that he was not longer 'most eligible' anything due to Sarah, there was more than likely to be more than a few jealous eyes cast her way, and more than one nasty word whispered....at least before her introduction. Areyne had told her that Jareth had not even looked sideways at another Fae since the moment she had left the Underground the first time. That realization had made Sarah smile, warmed from the inside, knowing that they were one in the same, their souls cut from the same ethereal thread. Areyne had assured her that once the court knew of her place as Jareth's Chosen, and if that was not enough to quiet them, of her heritage as the daughter of Illianna, few would be brazen enough to speak out against her directly. But all of her assurances could not make the butterflies in Sarah's stomach stop fluttering. A large bump in the carriage sent Sarah bouncing into Jareth's lap, her skirts a tangled mess about her, and her cape twisted to lock the two of them very, very closely together. His soft, cultured laugh brought a rose to her cheeks and a matching smile to her lips.  
  
"Now now Sarah, we must remember proper etiquette." Jareth teased, light dancing in his eyes, his warm breath flowing gently over her face. Even his breath could intoxicate her, but today it was not enough to calm her nerves. "Areyne would be quite disappointed that her tutoring has already failed."  
  
"I thought this was supposed to be a magic carriage, what happened to the magic shocks?" Sarah asked, a little more irritated than she had meant to sound.  
  
Jareth stared at Sarah, intensity growing in his eyes, he had not heard that tone creep into her voice in some time. "What is it, my Love?" Jareth asked, quiet concern edging into his silken voice. "Are you alright?"  
  
Sarah sighed, her eyes brimming with tears. "It's nothing" she was quick to reply, trying to look away, to turn from his burning eyes.  
  
"We made a promise to one another, no lies. I have never lied to you, and I do not think you intend to start now. Tell me what it is, my Sarah. Tell me so I can help. Or I can make you forget it." With his last statement a half smile twisted on the corner of his mouth.  
  
"I just........" she bit her lip, embarrassed beyond all belief that she was even about to confess such a ridiculous idea. Afterall, this was Jareth, how could he possibly understand? And she was a grown woman, why was this so daunting. Sighing, she closed her eyes, hoping to get it all out in one breath, but unable to look him in the eyes as she did so. "I don't want to let you down...don't want to embarrass you. I've only been...whatever it is I am now...for a few months. I am still getting used to it. And.....and damnit" Her voice fell to a whisper "I've never been shown off before, never had to deal with court politics, never had to deal with women staring daggers...." His lips gently covered hers and all thoughts were lost in the softness of the most tender kiss she had ever felt. The soft love that ebbed from his lips to hers, was enough to make any living being weep to be in the presence of such pure love.  
  
"Shhhhhh" he quietly whispered, touching his forehead to hers. "Do you think you could ever disappoint me? We have been over this, my sweetest. Come now, stop this worry. I will be there beside you, at all times. There is nothing that anyone would dare say or do to disgrace themselves in front of me. And soon, in front of you as well." Her eyes met his, still riddled with concern. "Why do you doubt yourself in this, my Love? Are you not the same woman who defeated Stark and brought me back from the brink of insanity? You are your mother's daughter. I love you. The court will love you. And my mother and father will love you." His satin lips again graced hers, but she pulled away, more confusion written on her face.  
  
"Your mother and father? You never mentioned them. I guess I figured you didn't have a mother or a father. Will they be there? What are they like?" She asked, sliding from his lap to sit beside him.  
  
Jareth stopped, had he really forgotten to tell her about them? He supposed they had been a bit busy with other activities, a wicked grin snaking onto his lips at the memories, and history lessons had always did seem to rapidly deteriorate into physiology lessons....He supposed he had neglected to mention his family tree. His thought process changed, if she had been nervous before, the prospect of telling her that his was the ruling family of the Premiere Kingdom could set her even more on edge. He would approach it differently, he decided, tact had always been his strong suit.  
  
"Sarah," he began, "When I say you have nothing to fear in front of the court, I mean it with all of my heart. And have I ever lied?"  
  
"No. Twisted the truth a bit, but..." Sarah stopped, a slight smile playing across her lips as she stared into his devilish features.  
  
"Careful." He teased, nipping at her neck.  
  
"Hey! You were going to tell me about your parents."  
  
Jareth sighed, rolling his eyes, "Now you've gone and spoiled a perfectly evil mood." With mock exasperation he finished untangling himself from Sarah's skirts, and turned to face her. "Sarah, you have nothing to fear, you will not embarrass me, and no harm, political or other will come to you. My mother and father are the premiere rulers of the Underground and as such, mine is the premiere family, none will directly harm or maneuver against them."  
  
A look of confusion came over her face. "Jareth, I know this is new to me and all, but, I thought the first Kingdom was that of the . Am I wrong?"  
  
"No my Love, you are quite right." He said, kissing her hand. "But I did not say the First Kingdom, I said the Premiere Kingdom. You see, a very long time ago, a battle was waged for the Underground, my family led the Fae to victory. You see, a race before the Fae and humans inhabited this world. Beautiful creatures, like Fae with feathered wings,"  
  
"Angels." Sarah breathed, engrossed in the story.  
  
"They are called the Fells, fallen from grace. But you get ahead of me, my Love. They coveted the Underground. Some of the Fae fled above, leaving the magical realm, others stayed and two brothers led them to the very center of the Underground. One of the brothers was able to tap into the very magical vein of the Underground, and he sacrificed himself to give magic to all Fae. The other brother led the charge to take their place in their home, to end the slaughter of their kind, to forever extinguish the persecution of the Fae. It was a battle that stained the very ground red with the blood of the Fells. Finally, their leader fell. But rather than kill him, the brother offered all Fells a choice, to live beside them, disgraced for eternity, or to be banished to world of the humans. The leader of the Fells could not bear the defeat, and he killed himself, vowing one day to return. The other Fells, unable to bear leaving the Underground, took their place here. The brother's name was Jaredenth Il Xluden Magistreth. And as such, it is my family's name."  
  
"You mean, your father was the..." Sarah looked at him in disbelief.  
  
"No, Sarah, that was millennia ago. But it is my family line. As such, they were entrusted with the very center of the Underground, to guard and protect the Premiere Kingdom, to which all other kingdoms are tied. To rule over all other Kingdoms that would arise in time, but not as a stern monarchy, rather to set the precedence. All others defer to their judgment."  
  
"And the Fells? Whatever happened to them?" Sarah asked. The idea of living in total disgrace for an eternity did not bode well with her. Jareth could see it in her eyes.  
  
"Sarah, try to understand. Their leader was known by the name Innix. He and his slaughtered women and children ruthlessly. Babes were said to have staked through the mouth, simply because he could not bear the sound of a child. They followed him without reason, at that time, we were defenseless, we had no magic, no way to truly defend ourselves. Our race, and theirs, was nearly wiped out. In his judgment, Jaredenth sought to both punish and protect the Fells. By passing the rite of Eternal Disgrace upon them, the few that remained after that final battle would never again be able to rise up, but by the same token, no Fae, by law, could administer any other punishment, his word was final. They may live in this world, but they are scarred by the past." Still seeing the conflict within her, Jareth continued, imploring her to understand. "Many of them are only one generation removed from the great battle. They are even longer lived than the Fae, my love. Time passes differently here, as you know. Can you understand?"  
  
Sarah looked down. "Are they all marked, um, disgraced? What if one of them were to have a baby? Would that child be hated too?"  
  
"Sarah, they are not hated, they are disgraced, marked so that the past may never again repeat itself. It serves as a reminder to all races. With each generation that passes, on both sides, the burden becomes less. So, to answer your question, no, a babe is an innocent, and would not bear the full disgrace."  
  
"Are these people hurt or abused in any way? I guess I don't get the point of it. Is it just to embarrass them or what? What about forgive and forget and all that?" Sarah asked, so many questions playing inside her head.  
  
Jareth let out an exasperated sigh, it was not so easy to explain a culture that was based on millions of years, where one life spanned thousands, if not more, years. "Sarah, they are simply not allowed to hold places of power within the Underground at this point, and they are not permitted to hide their heritage. And there is some stigma that goes with that, yes, but they are in no way mistreated. It is felt that the disgrace is enough. Any one causing harm to another, of any race, is subject to the laws of the underground. Their history is a brutal and bloody one, I do not hide that. But they are a part of this world. Yes, some Fae are more prejudiced towards them than others, but they are subjects of the community. Besides, there are so few, and they keep to themselves within their communities, preferring solitude, that it is rare that a dispute even comes to pass. I have only ever known one, and she was treated with the highest respect by my family. Does any of that help you to understand? I know that it is a lot to take in, Sarah, but this world is different than yours and you need to try and accept the differences." His voice was stern, but it was also understanding, Sarah shook her head. She thought about it and it did make sense. She would like to meet a Fells though, to make sure there was fair treatment, and no "separate but equal" smoke screens playing out.  
  
"I suppose I understand. But it will take some time for me to accept it." She turned and stared out the window, the stark landscape a match to her feelings. Desperate to change the subject, she turned back to him. "Jareth?"  
  
"Yes." He answered, his eyes searching hers, asking her to understand. He found acceptance in them and thus was flooded with relief. She may not fully understand, but she trusted him, and that was all that mattered. A tense moment passed, one that had pitted her against his culture, and their love had once more won. Was there anything it could not overcome?  
  
"Why are we passing through the country, um, coutries? Why not just transport there?" She seemed to have accepted the treatment of the Fells, and moved on, at least for now, she was strong, and he smiled, knowing that in time, she would even succeed her mother as being the greatest queen the underground had ever known.  
  
"Tradition. It is so rare that the rulers of the kingdom do not just simply do just that. This forced caravan was put in place to make them to see the kingdoms within which they rule, and the kingdoms of others, to expose them to peasants, the working class, to the magesty and magic of the realm."  
  
"I wish the congress had to do that!" Sarah exclaimed "That is the most incredible idea!"  
  
"I am slightly confused, but thank you. It was mine." Jareth smirked.  
  
Sarah smiled deeply looking into his eyes. Biting her lip, she moved in closer breathing softly on his neck "And do you have any others?" she whispered into his ear, kissing him softly on the little spot just under his ear.  
  
"Yes," his voice soft as turned toward her, pressing his lips into hers, tangling his hands in her auburn hair. In an instant, the carriage windows were closed and soft candle light glowed from above, basking the room in a gentle glow. Slowly he laid her down upon the large cushioned bench, lying on his side beside her, nuzzling his face into her neck. Three months had passed, and he could not get enough of her. He physically needed her close to him, needed her beside him, and she reciprocated that need in force. If mere hours passed where the two were separated, it was as if the world began to fall down. Their souls would not officially be joined until the ceremony, but somehow, Jareth knew, they already were, and he could feel their link growing stronger with every moment they were together. "I love you, my Sarah, with all that I am, with all of my soul."  
  
"And I love you. You are my soul, my Jareth." The two closed their eyes, and slept, comforted by single heartbeat shared between two chests. 


	5. The Past, The Future

Standard Disclaimer – Ownership of Nothing Labyrinth  
  
Chapter 5  
  
The Past, The Future  
  
Sieca pushed the gate open slowly and entered the grotto that led to the door of the Ivory Sanctuary and the adjoined Ivory Temple. Goddess it was beautiful. Even in the frosts and bitter cold of this early winter, the grotto was warm, fountains spilled iridescent water into pools, and winter flowers bloomed in hues of icy blues and pale frosted pinks. The entire grove was a monument to peaceful divinity. Statues of Unicorns and Fae- Kind in silver, gold, and marble decorated the paths of the gardens. Every so often a statue would move, bored with its current location, to find a new place to rest for the day, a new pose to strike. Small winter faries attended the flowers, draping them with frost and small icicles, but never bringing harm to the delicate vegetation.  
  
Sieca looked down at Rissick, both felt the all encompassing serenity of this semi-divine place, rumored to have been created with the Magic of a Fae and the Soul of a Human, but both were still more than on edge. They had heard the rumors that her half-brother had been imprisoned here, to forever be forced to caretake this place of goodness. The contradiction did not make sense to Sieca, but the two continued, determined in their quest for answers. They moved without noise, making their way to the center structure. Sieca stared at the silver doors, praying that the rumors she had heard were not true, that behind them was not her half brother, that there was another answer. Steadying herself, Sieca raised one of the knockers and gingerly rang it against the door three times. Then the two companions waited in silence, stepping back from the doors.  
  
Slowly, both of the great doors opened inward, revealing a grand foyer, lined with painted that constantly magically shifted form. Images from across the Underground of Fae, of Faeries, landscapes, beasts, and the like decked the walls, golden silks lined windows and marble columns inlaid with gold and silver leafing supported the clear ceiling, through which the sun or moon could be seen arcing across the sky. The scene was breathtaking; Sieca's breath was lost in the sheer beauty and tranquility of the room before her. The entire room seemed to emanate beauty and light.  
  
"Just bloody lovely, isn't it?"  
  
Sieca's attention snapped to focus across the room at the sole figure standing atop a large staircase that ended in another set of doors. The figure was haggard, in desperate contrast to the beauty of the room. His clothes were torn and ragged, his dark hair hung limply about his shoulders. Dark circles hung as a testament to pain under piercing violet orbs – they eyes were the only thing about this frail looking creature that remained vibrant. He appeared to her as if his body could wither but the eyes would forever burn with a hatred sprung from defeat. His eyes bored into her and Sieca instinctively pulled her cloak tighter about her form, and closer over her head. This was not the man who had saved her life, once so very, very long ago, but this was Stark, there was no doubt – she could see it in those eyes. A quiet rumbling emanated from beside her, and she knew Rissick sensed the same thing she did – there was a darkness here, and it was standing at the top of a sprawling staircase.  
  
Stark swaggered down the stairs, a limp evident in his left side. "Come come come, why wear a hood, dear. I know who you are, I can smell it from here. Don't you want to take a better look at your dear brother?" He walked right up to her and pulled her hood back, revealing her porcelain face. Black hair closely cropped to her head, no more than a few inches long, but so black it was almost iridescent. Her features were almost childlike, large eyes, a perfect nose, dark brows and high cheekbones. Her lips, pale and full held no smile as her eyes shimmered, their multi- colored depths locking with his violet orbs. For a second, Stark lost his breath in her angelic beauty. He recovered quickly though, his voice as icy as before. "Isn't that better now?" he asked, turning his back to her, making his way to one of the many marble benches within the grand entrance. "My my, we have really grown up, haven't we my lovely? Still wandering about aimlessly? Last I heard, you had left the goblin shit kingdom and had disappeared – gone into the night." He looked up at her again, a twisted smile forming on his cracked lips, "It has been so long since I have had any....company...You know, you are only my half sibling...." A cough wracked his frame, and as he turned to sit, Sieca could see blood speckling his lips. Against her better judgment, she was by his side in an instant, and taking his hand, she uttered a few quiet long forgotten words, and his coughing subsided, he breathing becoming less labored, more relaxed. Quickly, she pulled her hand away from him, unsure of what to think of his strange words to her, unsure of what to think of the haggard beast sitting before her. He certainly was no threat, he looked as though he would pass out at any moment.  
  
With his breath recovered, Stark stared at her, "On your knees, just where a woman belongs. Tell me, dearest sister, to what do I owe this grand gesture of kindness, to what do I owe a visit from a bastard half breed?" Closing his eyes, Stark sank back against the back of the bench. Sieca stood warily, and backed a few paces away, staring at his ashen face, his hollowed cheeks and torn clothing. He was a shadow of his former self, and though anger raged against her mind at his harsh words and seemingly villainous behavior, her heart pleaded with her to believe there was still something of the man she once knew locked inside. He looked as though he had fallen into a labored sleep when Sieca finally responded to him.  
  
"Tell me, tell me what happened here Stark. Tell me why you are in such a state. Please, let me help you." Her voice was shaking as she asked, afraid at what she may hear in response.  
  
Long minutes passed and he made no move to respond. The only sound in the Temple, was the raggad intake of breath, the painful reminder of Stark's humanity. Had it not been for the breath, Sieca would have thought him passed on. Slowly, she turned on her heel and began walking back to where Rissick sat, having never taken his eyes off of his companion. She stopped mid-stride, a foul racking cough of laughter ringing in contrast to the pristine walls. A look of horror and confusion lit up Sieca's face, and she pulled back further to stand beside her friend. Stark stood, then jumped up on the bench with an agility that belied his feeble state, his eyes wild and blood shot, a small line of blood running from his mouth to his chin as he assumed the crouching position of a wild beast preparing to pounce upon it's prey.  
  
"You want me to tell you what happened, bitch? Is that it? You want to know what happened here?! You want some little story time play house? Is my pain simply here for your amusement – another one of Jareth's punishments – that I should have to tell of my own deception and defeat? You want to know it? WHY?! To what end? What purpose would it serve you?" His eyes bored holes in very soul, and she gripped the hilt of her thin blade, taking comfort in its devilish promise of a quick death to the madman before her, if it should come to that. She prayed it wouldn't. "What? No answer for the little disgraced half-breed? You really are no fun – never were. Well guess what, the rumors I am sure you have heard are all true – all of them! Jareth, he imprisoned me here. Why, you may ask? I really don't know." Stark's voice dripped of sarcasm as he continued "I mean really, all I did was plan to rape and kill his mortal whore, steal his useless fetid kingdom, and slaughter one of his dearest friends – all in front of him. Is that any reason to punish me?" Stark crouched even further, lowering his head, but keeping his eyes trained upon Sieca, who stood barely ten feet from his primal, predatory form. "Then his fucking pet mortal somehow strips me of my magic and he leaves me here, human but immortal, to die without my magic to heal me. And do you know something?" Stark paused, lowering his gaze, then looking up he pounced, landing hard upon Sieca, the full force of the blow knocking the wind from her lungs and sending both of them crashing to the floor, and knocking Rissick to the side. Kissing her cheek, his words were flung onto her flesh with spit and blood mixed together with his hot breath stinging her skin "I will have my revenge, sweet sister."  
  
In an instant, Rissick was on Stark, pulling him by the arm off of Sieca. Stark's scream split the temple as the wolfen growled and pulled the man a solid five feet, tearing at his arm, before Sieca had recovered enough to call him off of her half-brother. Clutching his scarred arm to his chest, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood, Stark spat at Rissick, who returned the gesture with a growl.  
  
Steadying herself, Sieca approached Stark, kneeling to the ground and again calling upon her ancestral healing abilities, she stemmed the flow of blood, but did not heal the wound entirely. She would not risk another attempt on her.  
  
"Stark. What has happened to you?" Her voice was pleading, but strong. She saw the insanity in his features, and though she looked for some semblance of a soul within his eyes, some shred of decency, she found none. No light burned within him, only the darkness of greed and revenge. "What happened to the man who saved my life? Saved me from our father when he would have killed and raped me, as he did my mother? What happened to the good in you Stark?"  
  
The same hacking laughter arose from his throat as he pushed himself back away from her. He spit at her feet, "You really are stupid, bitch. I thought that perhaps some of our family's intelligence would have found its way into you – but I guess not." He stood, shakily and began walking back to the staircase, leaning upon the railing, he began his slow ascent while speaking through gritted teeth. "I killed our father – not because I came upon him beating the life out of you preparing to have his way with you. I didn't kill him for killing your whore of a mother. I didn't kill him out of some sense of family duty to protect you. Honestly, bitch, I could care less about you – you are just another useless female whore whose only purpose is to birth men – and that you only get right half of the time. I could have cared less about you – and if I didn't think your damn dog would rip me to pieces, I would take you myself and finish the job our father started." A smug smile spread across his twisted features as if he were proud of himself for the sick thought, and he continued "I killed our father to get him out of the way – to secure my line of power. I killed him to rule. I arranged the scene so that it looked as if the bitch Fells he killed, your sweet little mummy, had planted an iron blade in his gut. Actually, I had, as you know. If the investigative Fae questioned the scene, I would have told them what I witnessed, and in an effort to save a young, innocent little baby girl – you – I was forced to murder my own father. And by the way, your mother wasn't quite dead when I found her, I needed to finish that too." He laughed quietly as he recalled the scene, "those were the days, weren't they?"  
  
Bile rose in Sieca's throat and the world began to spin. Falling to her knees, she knew if he continued she would vomit upon the marble floors. How could she have been so wrong about what she had seen? Had she? "But you....you told me to leave....if you....if you had killed my mother....why not kill me too?" Stark had reached the top of the staircase and looked down at the scene before him. "Back on your knees? You really like it there don't you? Too bad Jareth succeeded in practically neutering me...oh well. Why you ask? Stupid – I suppose I would have to explain it to you. You needed to live just in case they came looking for collaboration on my story. I told you to run to Jareth's kingdom, knowing he would take you in, he could never resist an outcast. That way I would know where to find you – I made it look like you remember – that I saved your life and avenged your mother, sent you where I could find you should I need you. It really is that simple. Now, leave. I am done with you. You, your kind, make me sick." He turned on his heel and slowly walked down a corridor, out of sight.  
  
Tears burned at Sieca's eyes, threatening to fall, and finally overcoming her will, they poured from her eyes. Rissick sat beside her, comforting her in his presence. Finally, with a few deep breaths, she steadied herself and turned to walk out of the doors that would take her from the discovery of so much pain. Only one thought remained, she needed to find Jareth.  
  
Sieca pulled her cloak a little tighter, and refastened her hood. The two walked in silence from the foyer and out of the grotto, the beauty seeming somehow tarnished in her swollen eyes. Once more standing at the gates to the Ivory Temple, Sieca let out a long breath, not realizing she had been holding in the air. She looked down at her friend, a sad smile coming to her lips. She closed the gates and looked out over the mountain pass.  
  
"Rissick my friend, we have to find Jareth and the mortal woman soon. If my dreams are any indication of what may pass, there is a darkness that threatens him, that may threaten us all. Do you think you can help me reach the fifth kingdom?" Without a sound, the wolf that had been standing beside her grew and changed its shape, its doglike head elongating, his long shaggy hair becoming sleek and tight to his body but remaining thick enough to ward the cold, and within a few moments, a large black war horse stood before her. Sieca wrapped her arms around the neck of companion, whispering her thank you into his neck. In a single fluid motion she swung herself up onto his broad back. They were gone from sight within moments, only a single pair of violet eyes tracking their presence from a darkened room within the Ivory Temple.  
  
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"Stupid bloody wench, coming here, rubbing it in my face that now even SHE is better than me. I wanted to rip the skin off of her body! WHORE!" Stark was screaming standing in the middle of his quarters, which was a tiny room at the end one of the long corridors, actually it was the furthest indoor point he could find from the room where he had been stripped of his magic and left useless. The room was small, barely seven feet by seven feet. He had torn out all of the lush gold fabrics and paintings, leaving the room practically barren. There was a small cot and a table furnishing the room. The only light came from a single lantern. He kept it dark, to be alone completely with his thoughts. Had he anything to throw about the room to break or shatter, he would have. But nothing remained in the small alcove. It was as if the Temple had allowed him the one respite here in this dark corner, to be alone with his insanity. He crawled over the bed and looked out the single window, glaring into the scene before him. That little disgraced mutt was actually remorseful for him – for HIM!! Only months ago he would have slit her throat for her pity, watched her blood drain in front of him while he laughed at her life slipping away, but not now. Now he was useless. He slammed his fist against the wall, over and again until the skin ripped away from his knuckles as he watched her, his own blood, ride off. It sickened him to know that his blood ran through one of them. He screamed out in rage again, damning Jareth, damning Sarah, and calling out to any that would listen, he would give his very body, his soul for the chance, just the chance to make them pay for this. Stark sank back on the filthy cot, closing his eyes. He coughed, flicking blood onto his lips, and found sleep.  
  
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When Stark awoke it was well after the sun had passed the mountain tops and an eerie light cascaded through the window, covering everything in a bluish glow. He sighed, trying to push out the pain that now throbbed in his hand. As always his first thoughts were of Jareth and his mortal whore – of watching them both die at his hands. He was nothing now though – and trapped in this prison, there was no way he would ever regain his strength, regain his magic.  
  
A cold breeze wafted through the room, smelling of sickly sweet rotting of wood and flowers. "I can give you what you so desssssperately dessssssire" It was no more than a whisper on the air, but it caused Stark to bolt up and scan the room. "Shhhhhhhh, you cannot sssssee me, my friend, but I can give you what you so dessssperately dessssire." The whispered voice called again, and Stark felt a warmpth behind him. When he turned, there was nothing, but the warmth stayed with him, wrapping him as if he were a shivering child.  
  
"And how would you know what I desssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssire?" Stark asked, mocking the voice. But his interest was piqued. Disembodied voices rarely spoke to their corporeal counterparts without good reason.  
  
"Becausssssse, I dessssire the same." Came the reply. And with it, the sensation of a powerful force driven by revenge Stark was interested, now, but he daren't get his hopes ups. It had seemed like an eternity here, though it had only been months. For weeks he had tried and failed to leave the grounds, his wounds inhibiting his movements and refusing to heal fast enough without magic to aid them. And now, a voice promised him, promised him what exactly?  
  
"What are you offering?" Stark asked, the interest clearly registering in his voice. The normal snide overtones were gone, as was the defeat that had so often plagued him. Now, he was interested, and the prospect of revenge growing in his soul fueled him, spurred him forward.  
  
"I am offering you the Underground." 


End file.
